


summer lovin'

by mjonesing (klassmartin)



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: 3+1, Alternate Universe - College/University, Casual Sex, Casual dating, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Lovers to lovers, Okay I'm taking back the little bit tag because it got a tad more angsty than planned, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, but honestly who didn't see that coming, but only a lil bit, that's a thing right?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:42:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28560006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klassmartin/pseuds/mjonesing
Summary: This was never part of his plan.He’s moving to go to college in forty five days. He’s not supposed to be finding anyone remotely significant right now.But the girl he’d known for ten seconds six months ago had walked past him and his Aunt at his graduation dinner, and she’d smirked like she remembered him, too.------Or: The story of Peter and MJ and the summers that changed their lives.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 92
Kudos: 112





	1. ONE

**Author's Note:**

  * For [i-lovethatforme (Jsscshvlr)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jsscshvlr/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY JESSICA! Ahh I'm so excited this day is finally here! Fun fact to anyone who has somehow missed how much I adore this girl, but it is A LOT. She is my favourite person to not talk to, and has been such a rock these past few months. I hope your birthday is a good one - which it should be, considering I'm talking to you right this second, ma'am (and by that I mean we are... silent oop) - and this year treats you as kindly as you are to everyone.
> 
> Stopping before I get emotional. Ahem. I'm fine.
> 
> Anyway. This came from my listening to Lover by TS once at midnight and obsessing over a single lyric. You're welcome.

Let it be said that Peter Parker is  _ not _ this kinda guy.

But -

“Harder! Fuck, do that again!”

\- For Michelle Jones, he definitely is.

“If I go any harder you’ll be able to check my walls for termites.”

Her eyes, once closed in ecstasy, spring open to give him such a fierce glare that it falters his rhythm. “If I’d known you were going to be such a baby, I wouldn’t have -  _ oh  _ \- accepted your number.”

“If I’d known you were going to be so bossy in bed, I wouldn’t have  _ given  _ you my number.”

“Oh, please. Don’t bother pretending you don’t enjoy it.”

Well. She’s got him there.

* * *

They’re still catching their breath when Michelle pats his chest and hauls herself up.

“I gotta go,” she says as she tugs on her shirt, rolling her eyes as his pout. “See you tomorrow? I have to go supplies shopping with my Mom but I could probably shake her by 4.”

He pulls a face. “Can’t do 4, I’ve got the thing.”

“Right, right. ‘The thing.’” She finishes tugging up her jeans and leans over the now empty side of the bed to drop a kiss to his lips. “Well, text me when you’re done and wanna hook up.”

“Will do.”

But she’s already out of the door, tying up her sweaty hair with one hand and waving with the other.

* * *

This was never part of his plan.

He’s moving to go to college in forty five days. He’s not supposed to be finding anyone remotely significant right now.

But the girl he’d known for ten seconds six months ago had walked past him and his Aunt at his graduation dinner, and she’d smirked like she remembered him, too.

May’s drink had toppled over and drenched her nicest pair of shoes in his haste to follow her. He saw the floaty emerald fabric of her skirt flutter as it disappeared behind the bathroom door, and this low groan had vibrated through his chest at the teasing peaks at her thighs.

“You know it’s creepy to loiter outside of the bathroom, right?” she’d said when she came out a few minutes later, and he’d have panicked if not for that same smirk tugging at lips.

Three minutes later, she had his number scrawled on the inside of her wrist and he had a delicate shrug of one shoulder in answer to his near-beg for her to call.

A week after that, she’d sent him a text about meeting her in ten minutes or not at all.

The rest was history. A very recent, barely capable of being classified as history, history.

* * *

“If this is going to go anywhere, we need rules.”

They’ve been out wandering through the park for an hour now, stomachs full of pretzels and laughter. It’s been simple, like they’ve known each other longer than two momentary meetings and this spontaneous late afternoon, and Peter’s almost convinced he’s simply made a friend when her hand grazes his twice and makes a grab for it on the third try.

Then his back hits a tree. Michelle crowds into his space.

And she’s staring at his lips but whispering about rules, except the only thing he can think about is the brush of her chest against his and if she’s going to close the little space that she’s left between them.

“Rules? What kind of rules?”

“I’m attracted to you, and I’m pretty sure the feeling is mutual if what’s in your pants is anything to go by.” There is something wicked in the way one corner of her lips curls up as his hitch of breath. “But at the end of summer, we’re setting off to different sides of the country. So I have a proposal for you.”

Peter barely remembers to respond, enraptured by her proximity as he is. “Right. Sure. Okay.”

“We keep it casual. Easy. We explore this…  _ attraction _ , and come moving day, we separate.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” She bites on her lower lip, looking at him through her eyelashes in a way that should definitely be illegal. “Are you interested?”

His answer is obvious.

The most beautiful girl he’s ever seen has just offered him any eighteen year old boy’s dream.

What else is he going to say?

He seals the deal with a searing kiss.

* * *

It’s an experiment. Plain and simple.

It’s how she calms her slight nerves when Peter removes her shirt three days later, and how she justifies the red hot desire to discover what’s in his pants a week after that, and it’s what she thinks every time they spend less time hanging out and increasingly more  _ making  _ out.

It’s the last thing on her mind when his hand slips between her legs, or when she straddles him on his Aunt’s couch and he grinds against her just right, or when he tries out that thing with his tongue in her mouth that makes her light-headed.

Peter’s found a way to unlock the floodgates of her sexuality, and in the moments he isn’t touching her in some way, she’s thinking about all the ways he  _ could _ .

* * *

“So I think I’m having a summer fling.”

Betty almost drops her milkshake. Cindy chokes on hers.

“What did you just say?”

“She said fling, right? She definitely said she’s having a fling.”

“Michelle Jones is having a fling.”

“Michelle Jones. The anti-romancer. You’re having -”

“You two are the worst. Why am I friends with you?”

Cindy snatches some fries from Betty’s plate and settles back into the booth. “Because we’re amazing.”

“Stop changing the subject.” Betty slaps away Cindy’s hand when she goes for a second dip, eyes focused on her friend opposite. “Please explain. I need to know how much I should yell at you.”

“There does not need to be any yelling. We are in public!” 

Michelle chews on her sandwich as she considers her next words. While it’s not exactly a secret, her recent foray into the world of casual dating was not something she was keen to discuss, but the confession had slipped out somewhere between complaining about her Dad’s latest girlfriend and the article she’d read on the future of clean energy last night. Betty, ever the eye for detail, had grabbed onto the slip up with as much intensity as she now clutches her pearls - figuratively, of course, since Betty would never risk the delicate chain her mother had gifted her two weeks ago for their high school graduation.

The more important question is; How does she explain the situation she’s found herself in?

The answer is simple. As any book lover knows, the easiest way to tell a story is to start at the beginning.

* * *

They meet in a bookstore.

He’s on his tiptoes, trying to reach for a copy of  _ Charlotte’s Web _ , when she comes around the corner of the aisle. He’s stretching so high up that his shirt has ridden up and she can see a strip of soft hair and toned muscle that almost makes her drop the pile of books in her arms. 

She drags her gaze up his form, mouth dry, right until she sees the dorky look on his face; one eye squinted, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth, rain-wet hair matted to his forehead.

She rolls her eyes and walks right up to him, stretching over him to grab the book from its high perch.

“Thanks,” he says when she places it into his hands, giving him a curt nod. She makes to walk away, content for this interaction to come to an end, but something inside makes her pause.

“Make sure you have some tissues nearby, for chapter 12,” she throws over her shoulder, and then she walks away, her purpose for being in the aisle in the first place long since forgotten.

* * *

(A few weeks into their dalliance, he calls her the moment he finishes the chapter, voice thick with tears, and they spend forty-five minutes discussing the themes of the book until she’s yawned too many times in a minute and Peter gently encourages her to get some sleep.

The next morning he comes over while her mom is at work and fucks her for the first time in the creaky bed she’s had her whole life, and when he reluctantly leaves after two and a half rounds that she’ll definitely feel tomorrow, he goes with a backpack full of her best book recommendations.)

* * *

She meets up with him on a whim, boredom running rife on a too warm day, and the suggestion occurs to her without any prior thought.

The moment he agrees, she begins to panic.

But then he kisses her, a sweet, innocent thing appropriate for their location - right up until her fingers skim over his jaw, and then it morphs into a dirty, open-mouthed thing that rocks her to her very core.

Or maybe that’s him moving against her.

Same difference.

“We’re in public,” she reminds him against his mouth when he breaks for air.

“I don’t care.”

“You will, when we get arrested for public indecency.”

Peter kisses her, slow and hot, punctuating each word. “Still - don’t - care.”

* * *

She doesn’t tell Betty and Cindy about that last bit.

They don’t need to know the ‘anti-romancer’ got to second base in public on the first date with a boy she doesn’t really know at all.

Still doesn’t, by all count.

There’s not much room for talking when they’re, uh, otherwise preoccupied.

“You really think you can keep this casual?” Betty asks, uneasy.

“Please,” Cindy scoffs. “Have you even met our girl? The real question is if  _ he  _ can keep it casual.”

Michelle sips noisily at her milkshake. “Trust me. That isn’t a problem.”

* * *

“So we’re still - this isn’t becoming anything - you can still handle this, right?”

Peter’s head pops up from her chest, lips swollen with his affections to her body. “Seems like I’m handling it just fine, if your reaction is anything to go by.”

“You are insufferable.” But her tone is lost to a sudden gasp as his fingers crook inside her. “I mean… Us. Being casual.”

His brow furrows, but he moves back up her body to press a lingering kiss to her searching lips. “Did I do something to imply I wasn’t?”

“No, no.” Her fingers rake through his hair and down his back, legs parting to let him settle against her. “I guess I’m just checking in.”

Peter has the gall to suck his fingers into his mouth with a pleased hum. “I’m all good over here. You?”

“Well, I’m about to change my mind on doing anything with you ever again, but -”

But even as she says it, she knows they both know it isn’t true.

His ridiculous behaviour and sense of humour is what makes her so attracted to him. It’s as much a fact as grass being green.

“I’m fine,” she says instead, “No concerns over here.”

“Good. So we’re both fine.” Peter nods and presses his smile against her neck, tongue tracing over her pulse point. “31 days left. Think of all the things we can get up to.”

“Knowing how many days are left is not very casual of you.”

“Or I’m just smart enough to work out how many days in a month, considering there’s exactly that long between now and the day we move.” His hand drifts down her chest, tracing over the swell of her hip bone. “All while driving Michelle Jones crazy. Pretty clever of me, huh?”

“Funny, because I thought you didn’t have a brain. All your thoughts seem to come from somewhere else entirely.” She rolls her hips against him, grinning smugly as he almost chokes on his own tongue. “Got anything else to say, or are you going to get on with it?”

“Getting on with it, please. Condom?”

“Bedside table. There’s a new box in the drawer.”

* * *

“It’s easy,” he tells Ned one night after patrol, jamming his finger into the video game controller to dodge a second hit. May’s never really understood how Peter likes to wind down from the adrenaline rush of a busy patrol with further violence, but Ned always has, either jumping straight from the headset to his gaming station or dragging himself out of bed without complaint to go a few rounds.

“What’s easy?” he asks, distracted by taking out the enemy sniper.

“Being with MJ.”

“Oh, we’re still talking about her?”

“You asked!”

“Yeah, twenty minutes ago!” The game pauses and the sounds of Ned settling further into his bean bag chair rustle across the microphone. “Okay, fine. Talk to me some more about your casual sex sex partner.”

“I don’t  _ need  _ to talk about her. I’m just saying. There’s all these expectations and stigmas about this kind of thing, but we’re not like that. We have a laugh. She’s like, a good friend.”

“With benefits?”

“No.” Peter wrinkles his nose, then scratches his head. “Well. Yes. I suppose.”

“Except she’s not your friend. Because if she  _ was  _ your friend, you’d have let me meet her.”

“It’s not like that, it’s -”

“So what is she to you, Peter?” 

“MJ? She’s - she - It’s easy, we’re just… Um.”

Ned presses play on the game with a sigh. “Yeah. That’s what I figured.”

* * *

“We’re friends, right?”

It’s the first time he’s actually  _ touched  _ her, his hand sliding slowly up her thigh as she tastes the soft skin above his collarbone, her fists curled around the fabric of his shirt. She hikes it further up to trail her short nails over his stomach, humming her approval as he tenses beneath her and his hand slips up to graze over the crotch of her shorts.

“I don’t let just anyone feel me up, you know.” She seems amused more than anything, her mood a little lighter than his. Perhaps it’s the mugging he only just managed to stop a few hours ago, or the way she’d traced the mark that still remains from a blade the night before - she didn’t ask and he wasn’t in the mood to tell, even if she has no idea about his other summer activities - but her hand keeps finding its way back to it, caressing the puckered skin until all he can feel is the softness of her fingertips.

It doesn’t hurt anymore.

Not when she’s here.

He wants to tell her - it’s ridiculous, because they’ve only known each other for a few days, and it’s not like they’ve spent a lot of their time  _ talking _ \- but he implicitly trusts her anyway. 

“We can be friends. If you want.” She exhales sharply, her quiet confidence momentarily giving way to something a little more malleable. “Do you want to?”

“Yeah.” Peter grins. “I’d like that.”

* * *

They’re friends.

They agreed to that.

But when he enters her for the tenth or so time, it doesn’t feel like friendly behaviour.

She tries not to panic, tries to focus on the moment and appreciate it for what it is, but the thought snags on something sharp and persistent in her mind.

So she rips it up, seals it in a box, and discards it.

It’s not worth the fretting over.

This is about enjoyment, and the way he tilts his hips and makes her see stars? That’s  _ very  _ enjoyable.

* * *

There’s a night where time stopped, the city quiet save for two people playing chess inside a blanket fort of their own design, a bottle of something sweet and alcoholic being passed with every move.

The rooftop is cold but they don’t feel it. 

White lights twinkle above them as they discard the game in favour of pretending they’re seeing the stars. 

And the girl moves above the boy in a way completely unlike every other time, whispering each other’s names into their partner’s skin until they crescendo together. 

One week left. 

Yet the closer they get to goodbye, the harder it is to say.

* * *

It’s a weird thing, to be in something with an expiration date.

“Have you finished packing yet?”

Peter’s huff is damp against her skin, his lips grazing her neck as he mumbles, “Sure.”

“Oh. I see.” His hands slide over her ribs, taking a quick trip back to where she flinches just to hear her gasp out a laugh. “So you haven’t even started yet.”

“Mm.”

“Peter! You’re moving in two days!”

“And you’re moving in one.”

Something shifts in the heated air between them, lust making way for a hazy truth. It’s been playing on her mind since she woke up that this will be the last day they spend together, her bags already packed and neatly stacked on the other side of the room, the plane ticket sitting just out of arm's reach on her desk. It’s so empty in the space that each noise they summon from each other echoes around them. It’s a constant reminder that things are changing, evolving, and with that comes their inevitable end.

They chose this. They agreed to this.

She has to say it out loud, just to make sure.

“Then you better make the most of it then, shouldn’t you?”

Peter smirks, drops to his knees, and mouths his final farewell.

* * *

“We’re friends.”

“Yes.”

“That means we can… stay in touch, yeah?”

“Is that what you want?”

* * *

Peter leaves, and he’s fine.

He has important things to do, like talk to Ned. And have dinner with his Aunt.

And pack. Damnit, why does he keep forgetting that?

* * *

Peter leaves, and Michelle is fine.

Everything has its end, and they have reached theirs.

Right?


	2. TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way I forgot what the structure of this story is but wrote a cute long scene and decided to keep it anyway. Oop.

“So.”

“So.”

“Here we are again.”

“Yup.” Michelle tears her gaze away from the ceiling to look at the boy beside her, who stares back before they burst into a melody of laughter. “Should we have expected this?”

“Probably.”

The mattress shakes beneath them, relaxing her from any doubts of the surprising turn of their evening. “You’ve got some new moves, Parker.”

“Speak for yourself, Jones. That thing you did with your mouth? It almost ended before it even began.”

“Good thing we’ve got all night then, isn’t it?”

* * *

Freshman year passes in a daze of late nights, early mornings and study room naps.

And studying.

_ A lot  _ of studying.

She returns to a summer job at the ice cream parlour she frequented as a child. It’s a little tedious, but the chilled room keeps her cool in the sweltering heat, and she likes talking to the kids with sprinkles stuck to the mess they’ve already made of their faces. The pay isn’t great, but she buys her books secondhand anyway and being a student has taught her to be even thriftier with food and supplies. 

Speaking of books. She’s got a sophomore year reading list to find.

The bookstore is blissfully empty when she walks through the door after her morning shift, scratching at a smudge of ice cream that’s staining the left thigh of her jeans. 

“Hey, Bobby!” she calls, “You got anything for me today?”

“From which list?” Bobby’s head pops up from behind the counter, a screwdriver in his hand. His balding head shines in the warm lights of the store, but no more than his blinding smile to see his best customer. “Because you know the answer to the dream list.”

Michelle sighs longingly. “One day. But no - the college list.”

“Someone just dropped in a bunch of books an hour ago, might be promising. It’s just inside the back room if you want to have a rummage.”

“Awesome. Thanks, Bobby.”

Michelle strolls through the aisles until she reaches the door for the storage space, punching in the code and immediately spotting the books. There’s a wide variety of titles within the box but none are what she needs for college; still, she picks out a few that catch her eye and drops them next to the till for Bobby to price up before she floats off to inspect the clearance bin.

Nothing really jumps out at her, most being titles she’s seen strewn around the store for the past year or so. Still, she knows the temperature outside is unbearable, and to walk even to the subway will have her modelling some impressive sweat patches on the pale grey of her uniform shirt. So she gets lost in the biographies, picking out a possibly interesting title and settling into the peeling leather of the nearest armchair.

The sun moves across the stacks, one hour slipping into two into three. There’s a serene energy to the bookstore, one that’s attracted her back again and again since stumbling upon it on the way home from middle school. It’s a rarity among the commercialism of the city, its business waning in the face of chain stores and online retailers, but there’s a loyalty to Bobby and his family that feels a little like the heart of what makes the city so endearing.

She’s nearly halfway through the book before she returns to Earth, a vibration from deep in her phone making her snap the hardback closed. She tugs it from her pocket to see her mom asking after her, and is typing out a quick response when voices float from the front of the store.

“...didn’t mean to leave it so long,” Bobby is saying.

“...might be better at this but… can give it a shot…” says someone else. It makes her stand to attention a little more, something familiar in its warmth and cadence.

“Peter?”

* * *

His freshman year is probably the most stressful year of his life.

Turns out even people technically qualified to be labelled a 'genius' have to  _ try  _ at college.

It’s not helped by the supervillain that crops up every time he tries to sit down and really study; at some point in the year he takes to just wearing the suit beneath his clothes, just in case.

He saves a lot of lives but misses his final exam for his elective, which makes it hard to explain to his professor why he hadn’t shown up for the only exam he really needed to take.

It’s fine. He’s fine. Dealing with college life like a champ.

He’s going to spend the summer buckling down, he decides. Get ready for the workload that’s only going to increase, pre-learn as much as he can and prove he can be a good student.

That’s the intention, anyway.

In practise?

Well. He never expected to find his escape in the arms of Michelle once again.

* * *

“MJ?”

Michelle emerges from the depths of the store with that little smile she spent a summer directing his way. Her hair is shorter, pulled off her face in what was probably two braids at the beginning of the day, but she’s still wearing the sandals she’d had to pick up on a whim last year when the ones she’d worn to meet him snapped at the buckle in the middle of Times Square. The gaudy gems by her ankle sparkle in the late afternoon light in tones of emerald and sapphire.

The sight makes his greeting extra bright as he laughs in disbelief and holds out his hand for a fistbump. “Should have known I’d bump into you here.”

“I just popped in after my shift, you know I can’t resist all that Bobby has to offer.” Michelle taps her fingernails against the creased spine she’s clutching in her hands. “How’ve you been, Peter?”

“Good, yeah. How about you?”

“Crushed Freshman year, so I’m pretty pleased with myself.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else, MJ.” Peter shakes his head and turns back to see Bobby watching them with interest. “Uh, I was just giving Bobby a hand with his computer troubles. Or - well, I was going to, but it looks like a software issue and that’s more Ned’s area of expertise so…”

“No worries, I’ll leave you to it.” She drops the book from her hands on top of a pile at the cashier’s desk, rooting around in her backpack for a loose ten dollars. She presses it into Bobby’s hand with a smile. “Thanks, Bobby. Peter, I’ll see you around.”

His opportunity is slipping away - a moment he spent months thinking of before the tide of college threatened to drown him. 

But Peter isn’t stupid. He knows that in a city of millions, bumping into Michelle in the very place they first met; it’s one in a million.

He’s not gonna let the chance pass him by.

“Hey, MJ!” He catches her at the door, bell still ringing above her head. “I’m uh, I’m almost done here. Maybe we could get coffee? Have a proper catch up?”

“I have to get home for my mom,” she says apologetically, then; “But I could do dinner?”

“Breakfast food?”

“Always.” She grins. “Pick me up at seven.”

* * *

“Stop making such a big deal out of it.”

“You’re asking me to meet your  _ friends _ , MJ. What else am I supposed to do?”

“Act like a normal person? Also buy them blueberry muffins. They love blueberry muffins.”

* * *

She’s on her knees, mouth moving lazily over him as he tries to catch his breath, when he whispers, “I can’t believe we’re doing this again.”

“We’ve been sleeping together for a month, weirdo.”

“I know, I...” 

Peter glances down to where Michelle is slowly making her way back up his body, lips trailing over his wet skin as the shower head works on the knots stored in his shoulders. She loops her arms around his neck and pulls him into a kiss steamier than the bathroom, her breasts pressed against him in a way that has him moaning despite the still lingering haze of his orgasm. He has her back against the cool tiles in seconds, her gasp at his speed lost in the wrecked noise she makes when he hitches her leg around his waist and dips his fingers to trace her waiting entrance.

“Two summers of this,” he mumbles against her jaw. “Do you think we’ll ever get bored of it?”

“Of you being a tease? Definitely.”

Peter’s chuckle is punctuated by the slow push of one fingertip. “I seem to remember this working out pretty well for you.”

“It’s been a year. Things change.”

But she still hums in the same way when he drops to shower attention to her breast, and she still bucks wildly when he curls his finger just so, and when she finds her peak with his thumb rubbing tight circles over her clit, it’s with one hand tugging at his hair and the other squeezing his; exactly the way he’s come to expect from her.

* * *

“Same rules as last time?” he asks as they gorge on cheesy fries after she’s ridden him for the second time that night, their skin tingling in the aftereffects of the bottle of wine they’d swiped from May's supply in the fridge. It’s not how he’d seen their night going; a friendly catch up ending up with her in his bed, re-exploring old territory with a hunger he hasn’t felt since the last night they’d spent together before she left to move across the country.

Fuck. How is she still so beautiful?

“Sounds good.” She leans a little further into his side to reach into their bowl, settling there when she comes back with the cheesiest one of all. “You know, if you like the thing with the tongue… I have other fun things I’ve learnt.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Wanna see?”

* * *

To know Peter Parker is to spend most of your time trying to unravel a complex riddle.

Peter talks to her. A lot. About many things.

He’ll discuss anything as long as it means avoiding The Thing.

She doesn’t know what The Thing is, only has scraps and scribbles that amount to nothing but more confusion, but she wants to figure it out.

She has to.

If only so she knows what to do the next time he screams himself awake from a nightmare.

* * *

“It’s nothing, MJ.”

“It’s the third time this week. It’s not  _ nothing _ .”

“Just drop it, okay?”

* * *

Peter doesn’t mean to avoid her, it just… happens.

She’s pushing him for information he can’t bear to burden her with, this suspicious squint to her gaze as they wander through the shelves of Bobby’s bookstore with nothing to do but watch the summer tick by.

They’ve only just met up; he hasn’t even gotten to the part of his plan where he presses her against the travel books and kisses her until she’s breathless.

(He hasn’t kissed her at all - greeting kisses aren’t part of whatever this partially-unsaid agreement is between them.)

But his watch buzzes in the way that means their slow stroll back to his place after she’s finished work is over.

Damn.

“I uh, I just remembered,” he begins in a panic, his head twitching towards the door as he picks up a distant siren. “I have to… Pick something up for Ned.”

“Now? But we just got here.”

“I’ll be quick.” He darts forward to press his lips to her cheek, trying to not see the hurt look that flickers across her face. “Just… Wait here for me, okay? I’ll be quick.”

* * *

Peter doesn’t come back.

He disappears for six days.

She tells Cindy it doesn’t bother her - they aren’t a couple, Peter can do whatever he wants - but she can’t even believe herself.

Until -

The midmorning rush ends and Michelle is swapping out the empty containers, and the door opens with a huff of warm air.

“Hey, I’ll be with you in a minute,” she calls from the store room.

“It’s okay. I’ll wait.”

The tub almost slips from her fingers.

Oh.

Peter.

“You’ll be waiting a while. An hour, maybe six days.”

“That’s… Fair. I’m okay with that.”

A pause, while she dithers out of sight of the store front and scrambles for something to say.

Finally, she sighs. “Why are you here, Peter?”

“I fancied some ice cream.” A tap-tap-tapping. “Most of all I want to apologise.”

“What for? Bailing on our plans, not coming back even though you said you would, or not returning my calls for a week?”

“All of the above. I’m really, really sorry, MJ.”

She’s determined to cling to her annoyance (that’s all it is, an annoyance. She’s not mad because that would imply she cares) but she steps out to give him a piece of her mind and -

“Fuck, Peter! What happened to your face?!”

“Oh. Um, nothing. It’s fine.” Peter gingerly touches the poorly covered bruise yellowing his jaw bone. “MJ, I -”

She’s already ducked under the counter to grasp his face and tilt it for a better look in the light, the fluorescents showing the cracks between a lay of clumsily applied concealer. He winces when she pokes it with a cool finger but otherwise remains still, letting her inspect it until she relaxes her hold and fixes him with a firm look.

“You don’t get to ignore me so you can hide your stupid decisions. That isn’t what friends do.”

“MJ.”

“You going to tell me what happened?” One look at the torn look on his face, and she knows the answer. “Okay. Don’t tell me. But next time, just say you don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.” Peter covers her hand with his, turning his head to press a kiss to her palm. “I’m sorry, MJ.”

“Better be. We’re not done talking about this.” But she pinches his cheek with a tight-lipped smile and heads back behind the counter, tugging on a pair of gloves and examining the different flavours with a critical eye. “Rocky Road with too much chocolate sauce?”

“Don’t forget the rainbow sprinkles.”

She picks up the scoop and the biggest cone they’ve got, getting to work on his order. “You know you’re going to get a cavity, the amount of sugar you eat.”

“Strong teeth.” He snaps his teeth together in a crocodile smile, smudging his fingerprints against the plastic casing as he leans towards her. “Can I take you out, later? As an extension to the apology?”

“If it’s for ice cream, the answer is definitely a no.” She looks at him from the corner of her eye as she picks up the sauce bottle. “In fact, i’m not interested in going anywhere but in your pants.”

The door opens before he can do anything but gape at her, but she makes this giggle that isn’t a noise she’s made before, finishing up with the sprinkles and handing him the cone.

“There you go, sir. All done.”

Peter takes one look at the ice cream and snorts through his nose. “Really?”

Her smile is perfectly innocent, like she hasn’t scrawled the word  _ ASS  _ in chocolate sauce across his treat. “That’ll be $15.25.”

* * *

“You like my ass.”

Michelle shrugs one shoulder, the other immobilised by his mouth dipping into the hollow above her collarbone. “Sure I do. Doesn’t mean its owner isn’t also an ass.”

“How many orgasms until you forgive me?”

“Excuse me?”

Peter barely shows an interest in her shock, tugging her uniform from her body and licking his lips at the sight of her chest. His hands are confident in their sweep over her ribs, his startling familiarity with her body meaning he knows the exact spot to avoid her collapsing into fits in laughter and that, when he sweeps his thumb up her sternum, she’ll undoubtedly break out into a severe case of chills. 

“Give me a number, and I’ll double it.”

She barks out a laugh, hooking a finger beneath his chin so he’ll meet her eye. “Peter, be serious.”

“10? 20?” His grin is enough to light the entire tri-state area.

“Peter!”

Dropping a kiss to her mouth, he hums and leans on his elbows, brushing his fingers through her messy hair. “30 it is. Double that and you get...”

“You’re not giving me 60 orgasms,” she says with an eye roll, even if it does sound… Interesting. “I’d die.”

“Not all of them have to be  _ now _ . But that doesn’t mean we can’t get started…”

He grips her thighs and rolls them over, Michelle’s laughter bouncing off the walls until she realises he’s slipped down the bed, pulling her down so his mouth can once again make her see stars.

* * *

Ned is still staring at the door where Michelle has just exited, empty coffee mugs littering the table in front of them. The shop is too quiet without her here, their chatter and enjoyment filling the space until it was all that existed in the world.

Now she’s gone, gifting his best friend a parting smile and Peter a peck on the lips.

He’s lost in the daze of that half-second of physical contact, barely responding to the first three times Ned calls his name.

“Yeah?”

“Dude,” is all he has to say. “You’re screwed.”

* * *

He doesn’t know that she’s awake when he slips out in the middle of the night for the first, second and third time.

He doesn’t know that see feels him slip back into bed on the second night, easing himself in the space behind her and pulling her close. 

(He smells like sweat and smoke and spilled drinks. She prays for the state of her new bedsheets.)

He doesn’t know that she sees him racing to the roof one day when she’s on her way up to his apartment for a surprise visit, something striking hanging out the bag barely thrown over his shoulder.

She doesn’t tell him either. It doesn’t matter. Now she knows, now she understands, it’s easier to accept his crappy excuses and terrible timekeeping. She’s no longer mad about the week he disappeared on her, or the strange little quirks and marks that made no sense to her until now.

Because she knows.

Even though he doesn’t want her to.

Even though she’s not supposed to.

Peter is Spiderman.

And Michelle is a wonderful secret keeper.

* * *

“You ready to go back to college?”

He groans into her neck, hips stuttering. “MJ, you really want to talk about this right now?”

“Well, when else do you want to talk about? 93% of the time we spend together is spent having sex.”

Peter thrusts a little harder pointedly, teeth grazing against her skin as he sucks at her skin.

“Hey! No hickies!”

Peter takes a second before obeying her, a shit-eating grin on his face as he hitches her further up the wall. She locks her ankles against him and does her best to get him moving again, nails digging into his neck as she growls impatiently.

“I thought you wanted to talk about college,” Peter says, eyes so wide he might as well have a halo above his head.

“This time last year, you hadn’t even started packing. Just checking if you’ve grown up at all.” Michelle shifts again, gritting her teeth when Peter continues to trap her. “Come on, loser. I was getting close.”

“Calling me a loser doesn’t exactly incline me towards giving you what you want.”

“Peter, please.”

“Please what?”

“If you’re going to be like  _ that, _ then I’m going to the bathroom to finish myself off.”

He kisses the frown away from her face, his fingers digging into the flesh of her ass. “But it’ll be so much better if I’m the one to get you there.”

“Peter, I swear, if you don’t -  _ Oh _ .”

* * *

He picks her up for their breakfast food dinner in a pressed shirt and with his hair styled into a soft perfection.

“You ready to go?”

Fuck.

It wasn’t supposed to be this hard to leave with him.

All she wants is to pull him  _ inside _ .

“Let’s go. I’ve been thinking about pancakes all day.”


	3. THREE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A mild warning for some (definitely bad but she's only 20 okay, people) first aiding that is a little bit graphic, but not that out of the typical canon levels.
> 
> Also if anyone peeps my little Teen Wolf reference I'll be happy forever.
> 
> ALSO... I'm sorry, Jess. Loveoo? 😬

“Can we talk?”

* * *

May sits opposite him at the dining table, her fingernails tapping out a quick staccato against the scorch mark Uncle Ben had made when he dropped her birthday cake over ten years ago.

“You broke up with her.”

There’s sure to be a path worn into the kitchen tiles from his persistent pacing. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it was time. Does there need to be another reason?”

“I thought she made you happy. That’s what you said all -”

“It’s complicated, May. I can’t… I don’t know how to explain.”

She tuts but otherwise remains quiet, eyes tracking his movements as he tugs at his hair. Finally, she says, “Is this because of Michelle?”

* * *

Michelle turns his arms and gives him that smile that he’d rip apart the world for. 

“Sure. What’s going on? You look upset.”

* * *

Ned sighs into the headset, the sound echoing around his head as he swings through the trees of Central Park, taking a sharp left when he spots a large group of tourists heading towards Strawberry Fields. “I knew this was going to happen.”

“What?”

“Look, I like MJ, I really do, but breaking up with a girl you genuinely liked because of your… Your fuck buddy summers with her -”

“Ew, Ned, please don’t say that.” Peter pauses on a rooftop to adequately shake the phrase from his brain. “MJ is a just a friend who I happen to have slept with the past two summer breaks -”

“- definition of fuck buddy summer -”

“- and that is  _ it _ . There’s nothing else there.”

“If there’s nothing there, truly, then you won’t sleep with her this summer.”

Which would be a fine agreement to make.

If… He hadn’t already slept with her.

* * *

Michelle didn’t  _ mean  _ to fall back into bed with Peter. In fact, she spent her entire Sophomore Year working against it - she dated, experimented, found a way to kinda-balance school with a hint of meaningful friendships and semi-decent relationships. So what if none of her dalliances stuck? She expanded her horizons, and by the time she was on the plane ride home for the summer, she was sure things were going to continue in her slowly ascending trajectory through life.

Unfortunately, her vagina had other ideas.

They’d been a little better at keeping in touch this time, monthly phone calls and sarcastic text messages bouncing back and forth across the country. He’s easy to talk to and he makes her laugh, something that can become a rarity when she’s deep in the pit of studying and researching papers. Peter is, by definition, her friend - which she intended for him to stay.

They didn’t even make it two hours back in each other’s company.

She’s staring at the little foil square poised between two of his fingers, his cheeks flushed and his smirk smug.

“You were really banking on this happening again, huh?”

Peter glances down to where she sits astride him, her hand working over his hard length under the waistband of his pants. “I mean…”

“Oh, shut up, Parker.”

“Make me.”

“If you’re going to resort to playground retorts, I’m walking back out of that door.”

* * *

He takes a moment to find his strength in the sparkle of her eyes, the afterglow still flush in her cheeks.

“MJ, there’s something I need to say to you.”

* * *

Her orgasm crests and washes over her in a tidalwave of pleasure, her whole body trembling in his arms.

Peter’s head pops out from beneath the sheet, unbothered by the hand that still twists tightly in his hair. “How was that?”

“That was… I don’t think I can take anymore. Three on the trot is… A lot.”

Peter crawls back up her body and presses a lingering kiss to her sternum. “Well, we never did get to finish those 60 orgasms from last summer…”

Michelle chuckles, looping her heavy arms around his neck as he nuzzles against her cheek. “How are you still counting?”

“I’m very clever.”

“If being able to count makes you clever, then -”

She’s cut off by his mouth on hers, the taste of her arousal still on his tongue.

* * *

“I think - no, I  _ know _ \- I’m in love with you.”

* * *

He never had any intention of involving her in this. His side gig of stopping muggings and the occasional worldwide level threat was just that; a side gig. If he’s learnt anything over the years, it’s that Peter Parker and Spiderman are  _ not  _ one in the same - they are better apart, for the sake of himself but, mostly, for those around him.

The only person that’s  _ supposed  _ to cross over between the two is Ned, but that was less Peter’s decision and more his best friend’s insistence.

But Ned isn’t his guy in the chair tonight. He’s on the other side of the world with his family.

What a pity Spiderman had to go and get himself stabbed a few times.

May will kill him before the wounds ever could - not that they will, of course; he knows enough about his healing ability to know the scars should be gone in a few days.

It’s just that, well, there’s no one else left in the city he can really trust right now.

Plus… The blood loss is seriously affecting his ability to make rational decisions.

He knocks at her bedroom quietly at first, cringing when he sees a bloody residue left behind. He’s in the middle of trying to wipe it away with his elbow - the only patch of clean suit he can make out in the dark - when she throws open the curtains with half-asleep eyes, only to let out a terrified screech.

She slaps a hand over her mouth when two white eyes blink back at her, his grimace hidden beneath his mask.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” she hisses through the double glazing. Peter wants to explain it to her properly, to make the transition from unaware to ‘in on the secret’ a little smoother for her, but he’s struggling to maintain his grip of the outside of her building when he’s curling in on himself so tightly. The only thing he can think to do is lift the arm that’s holding his right side together, her expression turning ashen at the slick shine of his blood.

Her fingers struggle with the window lock for a moment before she closes her eyes and collects herself with a single breath; then he’s easing his broken body through the space she makes for him and barely keeps himself upright.

“If you get blood on my carpet, Peter, I’m sending you a very expensive bill.”

He rips the mask off of his head to gasp for the oxygen he’s struggling to take in. “You - you knew?”

“I figured it out.” 

Of course she did.

She’s  _ Michelle _ . The cleverest, most amazing person he knows.

Wow, she’s so pretty in the warm light of her bedside lamp…

Michelle grabs a crumpled item of clothing from the top of her laundry pile, throwing it at his chest. “Use that to apply pressure. I’ll get the first aid kit and, uh, I’m guessing the sewing kit?”

“Yeah. That’d be good.”

She’s not out of the room long, but it’s enough that when she returns, he’s on the floor. She lays out her supplies to her left and then takes the ruined shirt from his grip, motioning for him to remove the suit. Gritting his teeth against the fresh wave of pain this brings, Peter does as instructed. By the time he falls back onto his uninjured side, there’s a needle threaded and a lighter prepped and ready in her hand.

“Here,” she says quietly, “Keep the pressure on while I try and sterilize this.”

Peter watches her silently, the pain subsiding a little as he watches her fingers move methodically through each step. He can hear her muttering under her breath, short and snappy sentences that sound like they’ve come directly out of a textbook or an instruction manual. 

“Bullet or blade?”

“Excuse me?” Peter tears his gaze from her hands to see her watching him, eyes flitting between the wound and his face.

“What did this to you?”

“Oh. Uh… Knife.”

“Okay. So nothing to remove… Next step.” She picks up a bottle he hadn’t spotted before, flinching when she removes the cork with her teeth.

“What are you doing?!”

She frowns. “I only have alcohol wipes, but they aren’t going to cut it here. I figure… Alcohol is alcohol, right?”

They both know that isn’t true, but before he can comment, she’s sliding a ratty towel beneath him with one hand and pouring with the other.

“Holy -” Peter’s scream is silent, his hand darting out in instinct and latching onto the closest inanimate object - her bed frame. The metal groans beneath his strength, but he barely notices over the white hot flash of pain that roars through his system.

Michelle whimpers. “Please pass out, please pass out, please pass out…”

* * *

Peter passes out.

Hot tears flow down her cheeks as she finally feels a small relief. At the very least, Peter won’t feel the pain she has to subject him to.

She pats the area dry in time with her ragged breaths, wiping at her face with the sleeve of her pyjama shirt. The wound has stopped gushing with blood - now more a slow, sluggish trickle - which will be fascinating to her in an hour or two, but for now she’s more focused on keeping the wound closed. For the first time in her life, she wishes she’d better applied herself to those lazy Sunday afternoons spent watching her Grandmother weave magic with a needle and thread; she’d never been able to find the fascination in it the way she did with her books, which makes for a terrible technique. 

What if she isn’t good enough to fix this?

What if Peter dies because she can’t fucking sew?!

She’s had a year to think about this, and knows that logically, Peter must heal pretty quickly. No way do you get in the amount of scrapes Spiderman does without something enhanced. And he hadn’t told her anything specific to do; so it’s just a case of holding his skin together long enough for his abilities to do their thing… Right?

“Okay, Michelle. You can do this.” She uses one hand to hold the worst of the wounds close together, then picks up her needle and tries not to vomit at the amount of force it takes to pierce his skin.

Fuck, she’s really going to kill him the second he wakes up.

* * *

“I missed you,” he’d whispered that first night, face nestled into the crook of her neck as she holds him with one arm and her new book from Bobby’s in the other.

“Go back to sleep, loser,” she’d whispered back, a secret smile taking over her face. “I missed you, too.”

* * *

Peter stirs to see Michelle jolt up from her perch against the wall, concern immediately flooding her dark eyes.

He wheezes out a breath as his injuries protest his movement. “Ow…”

She grabs his face between her hands, sniffing and choking on a laugh - or is it a sob?

“You’re okay?”

He groans. “No.”

Anything else he had to say is stolen from his lips by hers pressing against them, tasting like salt and lavender and a touch of alcohol.

“I hate you,” she mutters against him, fingertips tracing the line of his jaw.

He smiles. “No, you don’t.”

* * *

Michelle doesn’t speak for a very long time, staring a teary hole into his carpet. 

The confession just hangs there in the space between them; Peter waiting for her to accept what he wants to give her - but she won’t  _ move _ . She just sits there on his bed, the only sign that time is moving coming from the blinking light of his R2D2 clock and the shaking of her hands.

“MJ, please. Say something.”

* * *

He holds her hand when they walk down the street.

They kiss in line at the coffee shop.

She quizzes him on whatever topic comes to mind while he patrols, playing card games and winning thumb wars against Ned as they keep him company.

It’s nice. It’s easy. It’s… Everything.

* * *

He knows what she wants from the bakery down the street before she says it.

They spend a little less time having sex, and a little more time hanging out.

She meets his Aunt and introduces him to her Mom.

It’s too nice. It’s too easy. It’s… Too much.

* * *

It’s the last night before she gets on the plane, and they’re having breakfast for dinner at the diner next to Ned’s house.

Peter goes to the bathroom and Ned takes her hand, his infectious laughter from just moments ago melting away into something she hasn’t seen on him before.

“I hope you know, MJ; I really like you. You’re a good friend and a great opponent in Snap. But Peter’s my  _ best  _ friend, and this thing between you two? It’s drifting into dangerous territory.” Ned squeezes her fingers before she can interject, his words rushed and rehearsed. “You know he broke up with Liz for you, right? They were doing really well right up until the last month of classes, and then he started losing interest. The day before you came home, he broke up with her.”

“They weren’t working out, Ned, it’s nothing -”

“I know you love him, MJ, but are you  _ in  _ love with him? Because if you’re not, you need to let him go before he’s in too deep. He’s lost too much in his life to handle losing you, too.”

“Ned, I -”

“Just think about it, okay? Please?” Ned’s eyes freeze her to the spot, something building in her chest that she’s only felt once before; the night he fell through her window and she thought he was going to bleed out in her arms. “You’re a fool if you think this is going to end with a handshake and a wave goodbye like the past two summers; you both deserve better than that.”

“I don’t underst-”

“Hey guys,” Peter calls brightly as he approaches the table again. “Watcha talking about?”

* * *

It’s fine, she tells herself. Ned doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

Everything is fine.

Peter and Michelle, they’re… they’re fine.

It’s all going to work out fine.

Isn’t it?

* * *

“Why, Peter.” Michelle meets his gaze with a sudden blaze in her own, her small voice growing with every syllable. “Why are you doing this?”

“I don’t -”

“This isn’t what we agreed to! We said ‘casual’, not… Not  _ this! _ Why are you ruining it?!” 

* * *

“Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“I… I’m glad we’re doing this again.”

“Me too, Em. Me too.”

* * *

After an hour of screaming at each other, Michelle finally storms out of his apartment and refuses to look back.

The door slams behind her, signaling their final end.

* * *

“This is nice, isn’t it?” she whispers, safe in the strength of his arms. “A pleasurable farewell with my favourite guy.”

Peter’s lips lift from her shoulder and graze against her ear, his breath warm against her cheek. “Yeah. This is nice.”

But then -

“Hey, MJ.” He props himself up on his elbow as she turns her head to look back at his nervous smile. “Can we talk?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @mjonesing on Tumblr as always


	4. + ONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is here! Hope you enjoy the true corniness of this chapter.

Peter’s feet pound against the sidewalk as he races down 42nd Street, his teeth gritted against the feel of his phone insistently vibrating from within his back pocket.

(He’s beginning to think there might be something to this tardy reputation of his.)

He’s late. He promised he wasn’t going to be, but then there was a bus crash and he couldn’t just _walk_ by and -

The main thing is, no one was seriously hurt. It’s fine. There are more important things to focus on. Like how he’s breaking his promise.

The time blinks at him unhelpfully from a billboard. 11:58.

There’s no way he’s going to make it on foot, but if he changes into the suit that’ll take up valuable time -

No. He can do this. He just has to run.

Mercifully, the looming view of Grand Central’s main entrance finally comes into view. Peter’s legs work double time, muscles straining as he fights to be fast but not _too_ fast. He knocks into several people, throwing profuse apologies over his shoulder despite already being too far away. He takes a sharp left into the terminal. It’s an impressive place, if a little too extravagant, but Peter’s lived here all of his life; it’s just a regular place to him now.

Besides, he doesn’t have time to stop and appreciate the architecture. He has someone to meet.

He rushes up to the information booths, glancing up to check the time. 12:02. Not bad.

“I’m here! I’m here! Sorry.”

“You’re late.”

Peter swallows against his dry throat, a little short of breath. “By two minutes! That isn’t that bad!”

“We said twelve sharp!”

* * *

  
Michelle breathes in the unmistakable aroma of New York City and knows at once that she is home.

Thousands of people are moving around her in the never-ending bustle that makes Grand Central Station feel impossibly small despite its gradios size and flare. It’s a little different to the life she has been leading during her time at college, but somehow she always misses getting bumped into every couple of minutes. It is the way of the city. The west coast is too soft and pliable for the hardened edges of a born and bred New Yorker.

Walking through the terminal, she drags her suitcases reluctantly behind her towards the information kiosk. Why had she insisted on keeping so many of her books until the last possible minute, instead of sending them all off in the moving truck? Stupidity is the main thing that comes to mind. Stupidity paired with an uneasy apprehension of what might await her now she’s back for good.

There is a distinct lack of greeting at the information kiosk. She pulls her phone out and hits dial on the first number in her favourites.

No answer. Typical.

With a tired exhale, Michelle perches on the top of one of the suitcases as a makeshift chair, hitting redial and glancing about the terminal. Her eyes catch on the clock that costs more than she’ll ever make in her lifetime. The minute hand creeps past the twelve to mark the passing of sixty seconds.

“I’m here! I’m here, and I’m sorry.”

Michelle grinds her teeth, trying to temper the tired flare of annoyance. “You’re late.”

“Hardly.” Her mom drops a kiss to her forehead, taking hold of the second suitcase, her ever-present collection of bangles jingling in a way that echoes back through her memories. “I got held up by Phil, you know how he is. On the plus side, his nephew has a car and he’s waiting a few blocks away.”

Michelle perks up at that. “We don’t have to get the bus?”

“Please. You’re a proper, graduated adult now. Like I’d let you take the bus your first day back in the city.”

* * *

  
For a moment Peter thinks he’s really mad, before Ned’s frown melts into his easy-going smile. “I missed you, dude.”

“You have _no idea._ No offense to your Grandma’s broken knee, but I’m so glad your trip got cut short. The city isn’t the same without you!”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see how quick you change your tune when I drag you with me to keep her company. I got the early morning shift because cousin Susie just _has_ to attend her yoga class at 7am or else she’ll… I don’t even know. I stopped listening.” Ned finishes off their handshake and hands off his heavy bag eagerly, Peter not even flinching as he throws the duffel over one shoulder. “Plus she misses your cookies, so you better get baking.”

Peter shoves his hand into his pocket, coming out with a plastic bag containing one his famous chocolate chunk cookies. “Like this one?”

Ned pretends to wipe a tear from under his eye as they head out into the humid air. “I love how you just get me.”

* * *

It has been two years since Michelle saw Peter Parker.

That last look, his heart in pieces on his bedroom floor as she stormed out, still lingers in her mind.

It’s been two years, and Spiderman soars above her head without ever knowing she’s here.

This is how it has to be, she tells herself. She knew the risk in accepting the job here, but if she wants to get ahead in life, she needs this job.

The necessity outweighed the potential fallout.

But it’s okay.

She’s been here for six weeks now, and he either doesn’t know or doesn’t care.

And that’s fine.

 _She’s_ fine.

Peter’s moved on. Just as he should.

Besides; it’s been two years. They’re different people now. No use clinging to the troubles of yesterday. 

* * *

Peter closes the front door behind him as quietly as he can, only to turn and realise there was no use in trying; May is still wide awake, hunched over her laptop at the kitchen table.

He drops his keys and toes off his shoes so he can flick on the light. “May, you’re up late.”

“Oh!” May Parker blinks, coming out of whatever bubble she’d lost herself in. “Hey, sweetie. How was your date?”

“Fine.” He opens a cupboard to hide the twist of his expression, stretching up to the top shelf for the emergency chocolate bar. “She seemed nice.”

“No spark?”

“Something like that.”

“I think you’re trying too hard to look for something when you should just be getting to know these people,” May says as he slumps into the chair to the right, breaking off a row with a flick of his fingers to offer his aunt.

“Yeah, yeah.” Peter stuffs three blocks into his mouth and rests his jaw on the heel of his hand. After he’s done chewing, he adds, “It’s just, none of them have been…”

May pats his hand, hearing the words left unspoken. “I think it’s time to move on.”

“I’m trying, I swear.” Peter throws a block in the air and catches it in his mouth, using the casual display as a way to segway away from the topic he can’t stand to discuss. “Hey, did anything come for me today?”

“The parcel’s on your bed.” Peter picks up the bar and holds it to his chest, wrapping his free arm around her shoulders. “Goodnight, sweetie.”

“Night, May. Don’t stay up too long!”

She laughs at his retreating figure. “Who’s the grown-up here? Me or you?”

“We both are!”

“Say that again when you finally move out!”

* * *

She’s been an official New York resident again for closing in on two months now, but it’s only on that early Saturday morning that she realises with complete horror what she has yet to do.

“MJ! You’re home!” Bobby walks out from behind the counter to pull her into a warm hug, his scratchy, faded blue cardigan a familiar comfort against her cheek.

“Yeah, I am. Have been for a little while actually.” Michelle ducks her head guiltily. “I’ve been really busy settling in at my new job and -”

“Don’t you worry, dear. You have nothing to explain to me. It’s just good to have you here again - my business will be booming once again!” Bobby’s laugh is husky and deep, soothing her pre-morning-coffee mind. “Are you here for something specific or just to browse?”

“I have a vague idea of what I want, it’s just finding the book that ticks my boxes.”

Bobby nods towards the shelves, his creased brow raising higher. “Well, why don’t you have a look while I make us some tea?”

“Sounds perfect. Thanks, Bobby.”  
  


* * *

Peter wakes up the following morning with a plan.

It’s not concrete, but it’s the closest he’s come to one in two years. 

The time has come to cast aside his misery, to find the warmth of the summer sun again.

First step of the plan? Bobby’s.

* * *

It’s the kind of thing you expect from romcoms or cheesy novels, something that there’s no possibility for; and yet.

The door opens with a squeak of its aging hinges, and in walks Peter Parker.

He bumps his fist against Bobby’s, relaxed and at home at the place she considers most sacred, and he swings his backpack off one shoulder to reach inside. “I found it, Bobby. I found the last book.”

“Your time couldn’t be more impeccable.” Bobby nods his head in her direction. “Think you should go and check out the historical fiction.”

She’s not quick enough to duck back behind the aisle. Peter’s eyes fix on her immediately, lighting up first in surprise then dulling with apprehension. She’s breathless, her hand raising hesitantly in a half-wave. 

“MJ,” he says through an exhale.

“Hey, Peter.”

Stumbling a step towards her, his hand reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck. “Uh… You’re here. In New York.”

“Yes.”

“How - How have you been?”

In their three summers of history, from the moment they first saw each other to the day she walked away, there was never a moment where things between them were awkward. No matter the outcome of their relationship, they were always at ease with one another, the attraction between them crackling underneath layers of increasing familiarity. 

But Peter can’t meet her eye now, can’t seem to decide how to stand.

One moment is all it took to tear it all apart.

“I’m okay.” The words don’t come easy, her fingernail following an old groove in the wooden shelves. “I, um, I moved back a few weeks ago. Got a job uptown which is… Cool. How are you?”

“Good, yeah.”

The silence stretches on to unbearable lengths, none of the million questions she wants to ask him managing it past her heavy tongue. Peter clears his throat, body swinging back and forth like a metronome.

Finally, he manages to speak. “Well. It was nice to see you, Michelle.”

“You too, Peter.”

“I… I’ll see you around.”

And then he’s walking away. 

And it _hurts._

* * *

There is a secret, buried deep within her chest, looping and curling around her heart; tightening with every moment around her lungs in a way that makes it difficult to breathe sometimes.

It has gone unspoken; through that agonising trip back to college as his confession revolved endlessly through her mind, through the cruel twists that her education brought that made her determined to remain there; to save Peter and herself from the pain of her return for a summer where she couldn’t give him what he wanted. 

She would have kept it hidden, would have let it sit there inside her like the heaviest surety.

Yet now she’s seen him again.

And that’s all it takes to crumble her sorely-built convictions.

* * *

Her whole body itches to chase after him, to find a way back to the warmth of his smile and the comfort of his arms. How has it been two years, yet her brain can remember the exact way his fingers fit in the gaps between hers; the taste of his lips as he kissed her slowly; the way her skin tingled every time he stared at her when they were alone? 

Yet most of all, despite how much she now realises she wants that, what she wishes for most is simple.

She wants his croaky, first-words-of-the-day voice declaring it a good morning to do nothing at all. She wants his stupid messages tearing apart every billboard advertisement he comes across, and the way he laughs at her dumb jokes that most people don’t even get, and how, when he walked into a room, she felt like she could breathe again, even though she hadn’t known she was struggling for air.

“He did it, you know.” Bobby is suddenly in front of her, a crumpled and aging piece of paper outstretched in his hand. “I don’t know _how_ he did it - half this list is so ridiculously rare that I’d probably never have been handed a copy, but… For four years that boy has worked on this. If that ain’t love, I don’t know what is.”

A tear slips down her cheek as she takes the page in hand, drinking in the sight of her own handwriting in shades of black and blue ink, and the scratched red lines through every word. 

Peter really had loved her.

Maybe… What if he still does? After all this time, still finishing a list of far flung hopes and dreams from a girl who wasn’t ready to understand love outside the pages of her precious novels.

What if she still has a chance?

“Michelle?” Bobby leans towards her, squeezing her shoulder. “This is the part where you chase after him.”

“Are you sure? What if -”

“You’ll never know until you try.” 

Michelle runs. 

* * *

His head is in a muddle after his run-in with Michelle, so he makes quick work of climbing the building and changing into the suit, swinging towards home on auto-pilot. There’s a hundred or so things rotating through his mind, all the possible things he could have said to her instead of the absolute nothing he’d actually spoken aloud. How had he just walked away like that? He’s waited for this moment for two years - yet he’d blown it, all because he was too surprised to see her. 

But what should he have said? It’s been two years of radio silence and semi-valiant attempts at getting over her. Why ruin any progress he might have made by falling back under her spell?

He makes it back in record time, his landing unusually clunky on the fire escape. May isn’t home yet, and he’s supposed to be making dinner but nothing could interest him less right now. Plus his hands seem to be shaking. Have they been doing that for long? It’s a wonder he didn’t crash into the side of a building. Again. 

His phone alerts him to a message from May; a response to his inquiry into her day that feels like it was sent weeks ago. It’s a simple answer; the crying face emoji telling him all he needs to know about the state of her current project. 

Probably best not to skip on providing her with a decent meal.

A quick search of the kitchen turns up limited supplies, but there’s enough for chicken alfredo and maybe some of her favourite apple pie. He gets to work on the crust first, the quiet catharsis of methodically working his way through each step making a decent attempt at settling the chaos inside his mind.

But just as he’s losing himself to the process, there’s a rapping of insistent knuckles on the door.

“Okay, okay. I’m coming!” he yells at the impatient knocker, dusting the flour from his hands. He shirks his way around the kitchen table and into the little hallway. The knocking only increases in tempo. 

Before he’s even finished opening the door, someone’s pushing through and speaking in a breathless rush. 

“I can’t believe you just _walked away_ from me. Or did you do your web thing? I have been running, Peter! Me; running!” Michelle presses a hand to her chest, takes a momentary pause before; “You walked away.”

Peter crosses his arms across his messy apron, the echo of his heartbreak slipping out in words he doesn’t mean to throw at her. “So did you.”

She grimaces at his stern expression. “Yeah. I did. I’m… I’m sorry about that.”

Is she? Peter can’t stop the way his shoulders shrug and his mouth rushes to protect him. “It’s fine. I’m over it.”

“Oh.” Chewing on her bottom lip, Michelle nods and takes a half-step back, pain clear in her watery eyes. “I guess… I waited too long. That’s my fault.”

Wait. What?

His jaw drops but she beats him to it. 

“No, actually. Before I go. I just… I need to say something.” 

The only betrayal of her nerves is the way she licks her lips. He’s never seen her nervous before. It makes him brace for whatever it is she has to say. He’s been waiting for this moment for so long, but now it’s here, is he ready?

And then she speaks. 

“We had three summers together, but I want winters curled up in front of the fire with your overly decadent hot chocolates. I want to hold your hand in the park in the spring, teaching you all the Latin names for the flowers. I want to wear stupid couple costumes and hear the crunch of autumn leaves when you land on my fire escape.” Michelle slips her hand in his, a desperately hopeful smile shining his way. “I want every season with you, for as long as you’ll have me. I… I _love_ you, Peter.” She laughs incredulously. “I don’t know how I missed it, but… I love you! I loved you then and I love you now and I’m sorry it took me some time to get there, but… I love you. I’m _in_ love with you. Wow, that feels so good to say out loud - I, Michelle Jones, love you, Peter Parker.”

He’s laughing, his joy overflowing from his heart and flooding the hallway. “I think I missed that last bit. Just to check; did you say you loved me?”

“Oh, shut up.” She swipes at the tears that threaten to spill onto her grin. “Does that mean…”

“That I love you too? Completely. Absolutely. Without questi-”

And then she’s pressing that break taking smile against his own, their palms pressed together in a silent promise. 

This is it; he can feel it all the way down to his bones. It’s what all her books promise; a happily ever after. 

Because it turns out, Peter Parker _isn’t_ that kind of guy.

But for Michelle Jones? 

Well. He’s just a guy in love with a girl who loves him too.

**Author's Note:**

> @mjonesing on Tumblr as always


End file.
